


in the monotonous night

by ecomexi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bed-sharing, M/M, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, blood and injury /, more character & additional tags to be added, mostly Caspar POV, what if we danced together... unless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecomexi/pseuds/ecomexi
Summary: When they were small, Linhardt and Caspar had promised never to fight like their fathers did. Since then, Caspar often noticed he knew his best friend better than he knew himself. Linhardt always feared they'd known each other so long that he would not be able to tell the difference between fondness and a sense of familiarity.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault & Caspar von Bergliez, Dorothea Arnault & Linhardt von Hevring, Ferdinand von Aegir & Caspar von Bergliez
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	1. a battle

Caspar's father had given him weapons as gifts since he was old enough to walk. His third birthday was a training sword made of wood — he carved his name into the hilt when he was four. And when he turned six he got his first axe, rusted and worn. At age ten, he received another axe, but this one was sturdy and sleek and sharp and decorated along its handle with little gems and designs. When he entered the Officer's Academy, his father had gifted him yet another axe. It was just before he left, and he remembered his father calling for him as he trudged down the grand staircase of their estate.

"Your brother used this axe when he attended the academy," he'd said gruffly, and handed it over. It didn't exactly top the last axe he'd gotten from his father, but Caspar didn't say that. He had nodded gratefully and bowed, thinking how lucky he was to have gotten a goodbye from his father at all. And then he gripped the axe proudly and went to greet the carriage to Garreg Mach.

The towers of the monastery arching over the mountains were overwhelming. Caspar watched as they got closer and closer, and he felt his chest tingle with excitement. When the carriage stopped and he charged onward, he knew he should be stopping to admire all the places his brother and even his father once walked and trained in, but he could only feel the axe from his father bouncing in his bag and the wind blowing into his face. Not soon after, Caspar also felt a gaze on his neck.

Linhardt. He had known that he was also going to attend the Officer's Academy, but then again he'd probably have been more shocked if his family _didn't_ send him. They've known each other since they were kids, and even if Linhardt is lazy he knew that Linhardt's parents are even more strict. Though, he also vaguely remembered convincing Linhardt to come with him anyway, but that was a long time ago.

When Caspar spotted him his eyes were already on the axe poking out of Caspar's bag. "Another weapon from your father?" he asked scornfully.

"Yeah! It was my brother's from when he went here!" Caspar yanked it out of the bag and brandished it. Linhardt rolled his eyes.

"Still as brutish as ever, then."

"Yeah?" Caspar huffed at Linhardt's unimpressed expression. "What, did you get something cooler?"

"No, my father has more sense than to be giving family heirlooms to his irresponsible son."

Caspar then saw his light-looking luggage and thought maybe Linhardt's father didn't give him anything at all. But by then Linhardt was already gazing around, as if scanning the area for something. "Ah, so this courtyard is right by the classrooms," he mumbled to himself, and wandered past him. Caspar followed after him — then groaned and pulled on his collar before he started lying down to sleep on the ground.

A few days passed, during which Caspar hardly saw Linhardt again. It was said he got strange looks because he slept in strange places, like in the big windowsill in the dining hall, at the edge of the fishing dock, or in the grass of the courtyard by the classrooms. Nothing new, really, not for Caspar. Except this time he wasn't being bugged to go out and find him, or drag him by the feet all the way to supper. In the end though, he did still often show up at Linhardt's room to ask him to go and eat or train (though he rarely agreed to the latter). Though he did like the independent feeling, it was still comforting to be around someone you know in such an unfamiliar environment. It kept Caspar grounded when he was starting to question if he was only dreaming about being at the academy.

The starting date of classes was drawing nearer and nearer, and suddenly, the Black Eagles were told their new professor would be the same mysterious mercenary who saved Edelgard's life. They had a blank stare and an unmoving expression, and they always made direct, unfaltering eye contact when speaking to you. It was unnerving how they never laughed, never rolled their eyes, never scoffed. The first time Caspar spoke with the professor, he swore he felt chills down his spine. He wondered what kind of professor his father had when he attended the Officer's Academy and what terrible luck he had to be stuck with such a weird one. Though they were supposed to be super strong, so Caspar reasoned the aloofness was cool in a way.

When the first day of class finally came and then concluded, an authoritative voice rang out.

"My fellow classmates, I would like to propose something." The one speaking was Ferdinand, a noble from House Aegir. Caspar vaguely recalled him from a time Caspar's father had taken him and his brother on a trip to the territory for a political dinner, but he never remembered him being this... assured. Even Linhardt, who had been sleeping face down on his desk the entire class, glanced up at him. "I think it would be a lovely idea for us all to dine together, so we may get to know one another better."

Everyone in the classroom shifted. Edelgard's voice rose above the silence, poised and agreeable. "That's a wonderful idea, Ferdinand. I would be happy if everyone in our class got along, after all."

"If it's food we're talking, I'm in." Caspar grabbed Linhardt's arm and hoisted it up like he was volunteering the sleeping boy, after he had sprawled out on his desk again. "And I guess I'll drag him along."

"I would also be liking to bond with my classmates!" Petra smiled, and Dorothea nodded along with her. The rest of those present agreed in a similar manner. And so, they all headed to the dining hall, chatting all the way. Except Linhardt, whom Caspar had to carry on his back. He arrived at the dining hall with Linhardt in tow, his head dipped into Caspar's shoulder. Caspar plopped him down in the seat next to him. Linhardt put his head down on the table again.

"Hey, did you want anything or are you just gonna lay on the table?" Caspar asked him, ducking down to try to meet his gaze.

"Mmng..." Linhardt mumbled. "I should be having... my afternoon nap..."

"C'mon man, work with me or I'm just gonna get you the usual."

"Fine..." Linhardt replied, and promptly dozed off again. Finally Caspar huffed and went up to the counter to order what Linhardt had been requesting whenever they ate together: the sweet buns from Faerghus. Linhardt always did have a bit of a sweet tooth, and Caspar liked them well enough, too — they reminded him a little of something he'd eat as a child. He came back to the table with food in hand, seeing Dorothea try unsuccessfully to make conversation with Linhardt from across the table. Caspar set down the dishes with a clatter and sat.

When Dorothea saw him, her eyes darted from a dismissive Linhardt over to him. Immediately she smiled. "Hi, Caspar," she said, her voice sweet and unassuming. Caspar didn't know much about Dorothea, but he did know enough to be the slightest bit wary with her tone of voice just then. "A little birdie told me the sons of Count Hevring and Count Bergliez have known each other for a long time."

"Really? I mean, I guess... Since we were like six?" Caspar looked to Linhardt for confirmation, but he still looked to be asleep. "I think."

"Hmm..." Dorothea's smile turned into a mischievous grin. "So, do you have any dirty secrets about Lin?"

"Uhh, I dunno… Hmm..."

Suddenly, Linhardt lifted his chin, a small smile upon his lips. "Oh, I have a few things. Caspar was quite the crybaby when we were children. Whenever he was over during a thunderstorm, he'd run to my room and make me read to him. And I had to learn healing magic because he'd cry whenever he scraped his knee."

"Linhardt!" Caspar felt his face go aflame, and turned mortified to Dorothea, who was giggling with delight. Linhardt's smile widened a bit at the reaction and he ducked his head down again.

"Reeeeally? So the warrior Caspar von Bergliez, son of the Minister of Military Affairs, isn't so big and strong after all?" Dorothea leaned in towards Caspar. He realized he was no longer wary around her. Just horribly, horribly embarrassed. "Lin, you've gotta stop sleeping all the time if you've got all these cute stories about Caspar!"

Caspar stood up indignantly with a scoot of his chair. "Nope, nope, nope, nope. Linhardt, I really thought we were friends, but clearly I misplaced my trust somewhere down the line." Oh god, his face was probably still red. And the other Black Eagles were sending curious glances his way. Caspar sat down again, suddenly acutely aware that he was drawing even more attention to himself.

"Aww, it's okay, Caspar. If there's a storm, you can always come to me and Lin. Right, Lin?"

Linhardt hummed in response. Somehow Caspar knew he was still smiling even though his face was buried in his arms, the bastard. He would try to think of something embarrassing Linhardt did as a kid to get back at him, but all he ever did was read and sleep. The same things he did now.

"You're both terrible, you know that?" he grumbled, finally stuffing a bun in his mouth as if admitting defeat. After that, the matter dissolved, and Caspar chatted a bit with some of his other classmates. He learned Petra's favorite food, and that Bernadetta liked gardening. Ferdinand was as bold and assertive as he was earlier, while Edelgard was calm and collected. Hubert was creepy, and Linhardt liked to eat his buns cold, apparently, because he only woke up after Caspar was already picking up his plate for seconds. He blinked awake and nibbled on his bun thoughtfully.

"You want another one?" Caspar asked, reaching for his plate.

Linhardt yawned and nodded. Dorothea smiled from across the table.

It was later that night when Dorothea once again spoke to Caspar. He was alone in the training grounds for once, and the sun was starting to fall behind the horizon, painting the walls golden orange. He saw her wander in out of the corner of his eye, and he lowered his weapon, shelving it.

"Hello, Caspar," she greeted him cheerfully as he turned around to face her. "Training, even on the first day?"

"What? You can never get enough training, y'know?" He wiped the sweat from his brow. "What's up?"

"Nothing in particular, just bored." She sighed. "You're so hardworking. Aren't there normally more people waving their weapons around here?"

"I dunno, maybe. Oh! If you're bored, do you wanna spar? I'm feeling kinda restless."

"Um, yeah, I don't think so." Dorothea smiled painfully, her tone resembling that of a mother trying to let her child down gently. Caspar shrugged, and started to turn away; then Dorothea leaned over with her hand shielding her mouth, like exchanging a secret. "Sooo, Caspar," she sang, "Lin is pretty cute, right?"

A beat. Caspar blinked at the sudden notion. Linhardt? Dorothea? _Really_? "No offense, Dorothea, but I dunno if you're his type... Or, actually, like, if anyone is his type, now that I really think about it..."

"That's not why I'm asking at all! Oh, dear... It's just..." There was a playful flicker in Dorothea's eyes, and suddenly she stopped speaking. Her lips sealed together with a thin smile.

"...What?" Caspar squeaked.

"When you sound like you're trying to pick a fight it just makes you more fun to tease."

"Ugh, c'mon, you can't do this to me! Dorotheaaaa!" Caspar straightened his back and even dared to lean a bit on his tippy toes, trying to puff up to Dorothea's height. "What, is he getting married? A girl bothering him?"

She laughed gleefully, and put some distance between them. "Oh, Caspar. You're just too easy. It's just that I've always thought that falling in love with someone you've known your whole life is so romantic, don't you think?"

"H-Huh?"

"Oh, you know, at the dining hall. I thought Lin might've given you a few fond looks, is all." Dorothea was glowing with satisfaction. "You know, he really is a handsome boy, isn't he? Fair skin, blue eyes."

"Linhardt...?" Caspar stared intently at Dorothea, trying to process the information. Linhardt certainly never seemed to be the pining type, probably because he never showed much interest in anything except what he read and when he napped. So it was certainly weird for Caspar to consider the idea, but — but Caspar didn't know. He thought he knew, because he spent his childhood side-by-side with Linhardt, but those around him had always told him that he's slow, that he's oblivious. And somehow, it was most terrifying to think that there was something that Caspar had yet to learn about Linhardt. And he hated the feeling; it burned his insides like someone setting off firecrackers in his chest.

"He wouldn't," he reasoned. Then he repeated himself, as if to convince himself of the words. "He wouldn't. We've known each other for so long, it'd definitely be way too weird."

"Sometimes things like that are right in front of your eyes. I think it's really sweet how you take care of Lin, Caspar. He's a strange one."

Take care of him? Did he? Caspar wondered if that's how it appeared to everyone else, but he never thought of it like that. Rather, it was more like he'd just ended up bugging Linhardt to do things, because he was the only other boy his age that he saw a lot when he was little, and usually that ended up meaning he'd have to do something for Linhardt in return — whether that meant dragging him out of bed in the morning, or making sure he didn't die when he wanted to go explore some ruins out in the woods. If anything, Linhardt was the one keeping him out of trouble. Maybe he'd just gotten used to it.

Instead of saying any of that, Caspar only stared, baffled, at an amused Dorothea (like an idiot). Then Petra briskly entered, and stood before Dorothea with her hands diligently at her sides. "Dorothea, I am having a question about a custom of Fódlan. Will you be listening?" she slowly enunciated.

"Oh! Of course, Petra, I'm so flattered you would come to me!" With a final look, Dorothea apologized. "Sorry, Caspar. You can come to me if you ever wanna talk more, okay?"

"Yeeeah," Caspar replied, his mind still buffering. Once the two girls started chatting, Caspar power-walked out of the training grounds, and then the walk turned into a jog. Then he ran, across the dormitories and past the market and through the stables. Thinking: was he overthinking what Dorothea told him? Did Linhardt seriously think of him like that? What would he feel if he did? Probably... weird. Yeah, weird. Caspar had never liked the idea of marriage, and he knew that "fond gazes" always, always led to marriage. He was so used to cutting his own path, and he didn't want to go and get married just because he was the second son. That would be like telling his father that his brother _did_ deserve more recognition than him.

Plus, it was Linhardt. Whenever Caspar thought of marriage, he thought of some poor girl he hadn't met until a week before the wedding. Not someone he already knew, and most definitely not Linhardt. Not that Caspar usually thought ahead all that much, but he also had a funny feeling that his parents wouldn't be ecstatic to find out he decided to marry that weird boy he always begged them to take him to visit. And to begin with, he had never once thought about his childhood friend romantically (at least, he thought so), but once the thought reached his head, he chased it out. It was so foreign, so overwhelmingly strange. Caspar liked to keep it simple.

Deep into his inner dialogue, Caspar rammed straight into Hubert by the Knight's Hall, and fell on his back. Hubert narrowed his eyes, unflustered.

"Caspar. Wonderful timing," he said, but the way he said it made it seem like it absolutely was not wonderful timing. "Professor Byleth has distributed assignments for the week's chores. It seems you will be working stable duty."

Hubert handed him a lazily written piece of paper, presumably from the professor — seriously, what shoddy handwriting. Even Caspar could do better. He scans it and grimaces seeing his name under stable duty, indeed — along with Linhardt. At least Professor Byleth was somewhat aware of their surroundings, seeing as they knew that Linhardt and Caspar were already friends, but... Caspar suddenly felt a creeping sense of dread. He shoved the sheet back into Hubert's hands and stood up from where he had crashed.

"Thanks, jerk!" And he quickly walked away, mind jumbled. Cool, he was working with Linhardt, so it wasn't all that bad, even if Linhardt wasn't going to be working very hard. He just — he didn't know, was he really looking forward to seeing him after all of this had taken place? Even if it was true, Caspar didn't want to face it. Linhardt would probably hate him if he didn't feel the same, or at the least, he'd feel pretty terrible, and Caspar didn't want that, either.

Actually, where was Linhardt? Caspar realized he hadn't seen him since their parting after their class's meal. He pushed his worries away and searched the usual spots: the Goddess Tower, the courtyard, the greenhouse, the library. He was about to give up when he noticed someone lying underneath the bench near the graveyard. The sun was well hidden away by now, so the only way Caspar recognized Linhardt under that bench was his mussed hair illuminated by the fading light of dusk. And it also meant Linhardt was going to sleep unaware into the night. Yet again.

Normally Caspar would go shake him awake and bug him to go to his dorm, but his legs didn't move. He watched, waiting for someone else to go and do it for him; he kept replaying Dorothea's words in his mind and waiting and waiting and waiting until it was a few minutes later and there was only moonlight. It was only when a breeze passed that he turned around, frustrated by his indecisiveness. The rest of the week passed in much the same way: with indecisiveness. When Linhardt came to class, Caspar left as soon as the bell rang. When it came time for lunch, Caspar squeezed into a spot between Edelgard and Bernadetta.

But of course, the days still kept passing, and the week's end still arrived. The dread in Caspar's stomach kept growing and growing, and he didn't know why. He didn't even know why seeing Linhardt was suddenly so hard for him. It wasn't like anything had changed, so Caspar still forced himself to the stables with heavy gait, and waited there, busying himself with sweeping. When he heard slow and familiar footsteps behind him, kicking up dirt, Caspar swore that the dread grew all the way up to his throat and threatened to choke him.

"Hello, Caspar," Linhardt's monotone voice resounded as he entered the stables.

"Hey, Linhardt." He cursed his painfully strained voice.

Linhardt frowned, and there was a long pause. "... You know, the way Dorothea addresses me has been reminding me of when we were children."

"Y-Yeah?"

"Yes. I've also been wondering why you've been so blatantly avoiding me."

Caspar groaned and turned his back to Linhardt, now tending to the trough. "I dunno what you're talking about," he grumbled, moving his hands so that he would seem preoccupied.

"Would you cease your squirming around and just tell me?" Linhardt sighed, exasperated. "Really, I don't mind — I just thought it was rather unlike you not to be bothering me every waking moment. I could have been relaxing, but instead, I couldn't help but feel terribly lonely."

Caspar looked up at Linhardt's expression. He was never easy to read, but he did actually seem a little worried, even if he was weird about expressing it. That was something about Linhardt Caspar used to find strange, how he said how he was feeling up-front, but he never emoted much — so you ended up wondering if he was truly being genuine. Caspar used to cause a lot of misunderstandings that way when they were younger, but by now he was mostly used to it (or at least he thought so). So then Caspar felt a sudden dose of guilt in his chest like someone had just smacked him, knowing his stupid actions had made Linhardt feel troubled.

He huffed. Then he did again, louder and more pointedly. He locked eyes with Linhardt earnestly before he spoke. "I'm sorry, Lin. I guess it was kinda dickish and dumb of me to avoid you and not say anything."

"It was," Linhardt confirmed with a curt nod. "But I must admit, I am curious as to what rattled you in such a way that you would refuse to nag me for four days."

"Dorothea was making fun of me again..." he muttered. Then, following a pause, "Hey, Linhardt. You aren't like... getting married or anything... right?"

Linhardt smiled with a strange amusement. "Not to my knowledge, no."

"Well, Dorothea kind of told me something about how you're interested in someone. She's wrong, right? Right?"

Linhardt gave him a curious stare, almost incredulous. "Does she really believe any of us have the right to be thinking about love in our positions? What a strange woman."

"Huh? Of course we can! Don't be so negative, Linhardt. Just cuz we're from noble families doesn't mean we're doomed to marry someone we don't like."

"Perhaps," Linhardt conceded, and rubbed his eyes. "Well, I don't know the first thing about any of it, and I don't have the desire to, either. Even if I am married off, I think I'd like to continue studying and sleeping on my own."

"Yeah, I think we can agree on that. Well, kinda. Minus the sleeping part."

"Good. I do value you, Caspar." Linhardt gave him a rare smile, small and easy. "I do hope you won't be getting any more ideas about ignoring me, even if it is a pain."

Caspar exhaled, and grinned at him in return. "Wouldn't dream of it! We'll be together forever, right?"

"If you say so. Let's focus on the present for now, shall we?" Linhardt yawned, glancing over the stables, which hadn't seen much improvement since the two of them arrived. "Now, all this talking is making me tired..."

"Nuh-uh. C'mon, Lin, I'm not letting you out of this one!" Caspar tugged Linhardt up just as he began to curl down to sleep.

Linhardt's eyes were closed. "You could do it all on your own with that kind of energy..."

"Ugh. Fine, be that way!" Caspar let go of Linhardt, who let his head rest upon a small bench. "Well, let's get it done, then!"

"Do your best," murmured Linhardt, and he drifted off to sleep on the wood of the stables.

No more than a week later, Linhardt's eyes were wide open. The battleground — the Red Canyon — was barren, decorated sparsely with discolored vegetation. When Caspar charged ahead, Linhardt slowed, looking away from the violence that took place. Caspar barely noticed he had left his side before he felt his heart pump with excitement and saw the enemy running at him. _They're thieves_ , Caspar justified as he readily swung his axe into someone and a deep red filled his vision. _They're thieves._

Caspar felt a gaze on his shoulder as a feeling of triumph filled his body and he grinned. When he turned, Linhardt looked somehow paler than usual, and Caspar also noticed that he himself had drifted away from everyone who was caught in the heat of battle. He watched Ferdinand chastise Linhardt and lead him to the front lines. He watched as a bandit, burly and wide, charged toward Linhardt with a sudden burst of energy; as Linhardt's eyes widened and he jerked his hand forward and set the thief aflame. Caspar watched the thief breathe his last, after screaming amidst the agony of his flesh burning.

Linhardt muttered something to himself, face still white and eyes still wide. Caspar had suspected Linhardt might react this way, since he had always passed out at the sight of blood when they were children. Still, seeing it all in the midst of a battlefield was terrifying. Haunting. It was like Linhardt was another person entirely, the way he meekly looked upon the burnt corpse at his feet.

When they finally cleared the canyon, Linhardt bent down on his knees and puked.

Caspar waited at his side, thinking he couldn't really offer any words to comfort him. Linhardt was just different from him. There were people meant for fighting, for violence — and there were people who weren't. Linhardt wasn't made for battle, and Caspar knew it. Linhardt was made for reading and thinking and planning. He wasn't made for killing.

"I hate this," groaned Linhardt as Caspar took his hand and helped him to his feet. After that, he said nothing, and stared blankly ahead as the two of them walked side-by-side. Suddenly, Caspar felt a bit guilty for being covered in blood, but Linhardt either didn't notice or didn't care. His eyes glazed over and his breathing was shallow, so Caspar found it easier to believe the former, even though the metallic stench was nearing unbearable. They trudged further yet without exchanging words.

Following the battle, Linhardt once again seemed to have taken a liking to the library. More than usual. After a week of only seeing him when he showed up to class (infrequently) and during what few meals he partook in, Caspar burst into the library where, predictably, Linhardt sat leaning over a book. He didn't even spare a glance at his entrance, much less when Caspar approached him and sat down in the adjacent seat.

"Hey, Linhardt! Do you wanna get some food?" he said brightly. Perhaps a bit too brightly, because he got a spirited glare from Lysithea, another frequenter of the library's collection.

Without looking up from the book in front of his face, Linhardt shook his head. "I'm busy, Caspar," he said, his tone curt. And he did not elaborate.

"C'mooon, Linhardt, we haven't hung out all week. You're probably starving yourself in this dumb library, aren't you?"

No response, only his eyes dragging purposefully through the lines of the book. Caspar wasn't normally one to admit defeat, but Linhardt definitely did not seem to be in the mood to chat. So instead, he left the library with a frown and wandered over to the dining hall by himself. After he sat down with a glum sigh and began shoveling food into his mouth, Edelgard (who had been standing nearby, as if waiting for him to arrive) took a measured seat across from him, her hands folded over each other primly. He gave her a fast and rather disinterested glance, and went back to eating. There was a drawn out pause before she cleared her throat.

"Caspar."

Caspar swallowed and regarded Edelgard casually. "What's up?"

"First of all, your table manners are atrocious. In what world is it polite to ignore someone while you stuff yourself?" she scolded, folded hands tensing up.

"Uh, sorry. But you also didn't really say anything, so —"

"Never mind it. I wanted to speak with you about Linhardt."

Oh, him again. It seemed like lately all anyone wanted to talk about was Linhardt, and school was only just beginning. It was kind of shocking to him that suddenly Linhardt was the problem child, and not him, like when they were kids. For a moment before she spoke again, Edelgard looked away, past Caspar and out the window.

"I tried to speak with him personally, but he's been shutting himself in his room as of late, and he refuses to respond to me." She sighed. "It's a bit of a last ditch effort, but I figured perhaps you would be able to get through to him... It's about the Red Canyon." Pause. "I understand that Linhardt went to the infirmary after the battle. Dizziness and nausea?"

"Yeah, he's never been good with gore."

"Well, I spoke with Professor Byleth about it, and we both agreed it would be problematic for both Linhardt and his classmates for him to have another... episode like that." A firm, authoritative glint flickered in Edelgard's eyes. "For now, we will allow him to switch to exclusively studying white magic, so as to keep him away from combat. But I do expect him to eventually work toward the offensive, and if that means he must stomach a little blood, I don't think it should be an issue. Will you tell him that?"

"Yup," Caspar thoughtlessly nodded along (he had broken back into his meal while Edelgard was speaking) and even as he did he knew he probably wouldn't. The image of Linhardt mercilessly burning through enemies on the battlefield was bizarre, almost scary. Caspar didn't know what Edelgard's vision of Linhardt was, but Caspar was confident that he knew him better than she did. Besides, if he had Caspar with him, they wouldn't need a little extra magic power.

But Edelgard smiled. "Good. He's very talented, so it's a shame he's so adamant about wasting his life away. But he doesn't seem to be bothered by your company." She looked down to the table where her elbows rested. "Though, I suppose that is to be expected of childhood friends."

She paused, as if considering whether she should go on. Then she firmly drew her hands from the table as she stood, and they fell to her side. "Well. Please relay the message for me, Caspar. I'm counting on you."

He watched her briskly turn around and take her leave of the dining hall, and he shrugged and looked back down at his food. Silverware clinked. He ate. After he finished, he smacked dummies with a training axe until the sun had set, trying not to think about the library.

He tried not to think about the library when he went back to his room under the night sky, but still the towering bookshelves and the cold gaze lingered in his head. It was hot outside and so when he closed the door behind him he peeled off his uniform dampened by sweat and humidity. As he lay in his bed staring up at the ceiling thinking about how hot he was and wondering if he could get away with dragging Linhardt out of the library himself, there was a soft and mechanical knock on the door.

He tugged a piece of his still-soggy uniform shirt over his head and threw open the door. Linhardt stood before him — expression static, just as it was earlier that day.

"Hey, Lin," said Caspar quietly. He could hear the hum of crickets outside as he looked up at Linhardt. There was a pause; Linhardt looked right into him and Caspar shifted because it bugged him when Linhardt looked so serious.

"Can I?" was what he said after a moment.

"What, you mean...?" Caspar gave him an uncertain glance, and Linhardt nodded. Caspar took a step back to let him in, and shut the door. As he turned around he wasn't surprised to watch Linhardt wordlessly crawl into his bed, and he even followed after him in the familiar gesture they had repeated many times before. It was crowded and hot because Linhardt was bigger than him and his bed was not meant for two people, but Caspar could tell there was a reason Linhardt came all the way upstairs to see him, so he couldn't exactly kick him out like he would any other time. Before Caspar could lay down, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"... Your shirt is wet." Linhardt grimaced and wiped his hand. "On second thought, I think I'll go sleep in the library."

"You're so dramatic, you know that?" Caspar pulled off his uniform and tossed it on the ground. "Happy?"

"Yes," Linhardt replied, and promptly moved his gaze to the ceiling. Finally Caspar laid down and turned to face him.

"Don't you think we're getting too old for this?" he asked, though it was only lip service. Linhardt hummed a half-response. When they were children Caspar was always the one clinging to Linhardt like he was a stuffed toy (he was naturally warm), but it was a little too hot for it tonight, even for him. "So why couldn't you sleep?" he asked instead. That was always why he came to him, and it was always a reason like he wanted to read or look out the window instead — but he felt like that wasn't the case this time. And it definitely wasn't a situation like when Caspar used to burst into his bedroom in a panic because it was storming.

"I was only remembering the last mission and feeling sick." As Linhardt muttered this, he shifted and hugged his arms. 

"Gross. You gonna puke on me?"

"You don't have much tact, do you?" Linhardt sighed and finally turned over so that he faced Caspar, but his eyes still wandered past him. "I suppose it was foolish of me to think you would. We have fundamentally different ways of thinking, after all."

"But that's what makes us such a good pair, right?" Caspar affirmed, and Linhardt smiled in amusement. It was a relieving sight after those weeks of radio silence after the mission.

"I suppose that's true enough. I only wish our darling house leader would see it that way." Linhardt slumped. "It is rather disheartening."

"What?"

"Killing." He looked around and paused. "If what you're saying is true, may I ask something?"

"Sure." Caspar bobbed his head a bit, transfixed by the way the moon's light through the window gave Linhardt's blue eyes a small glint. It was unusual to see Linhardt so solemn, and again he scrunched his nose at the oddity of it all.

"Please handle all the killing for me."

For a moment, Caspar only stared at him incredulously. Then, with a yawn, he flopped onto his stomach. "You're such a weirdo, Lin," he muttered into the pillow. "Don't worry so much. I got you."

For a few moments he still felt a tentative gaze on his shoulder, but laying like that, Caspar eventually fell asleep — though he was half-sure Linhardt was still awake when he did. It was still humid, and some hours later he squinted open his eyes to see Linhardt curled up close to him. He soon fell asleep again, the heat not bothering him enough to wake up fully and shove him off. Linhardt could be such a pain sometimes, just like a clingy cat.

When morning light leaked through the window, there was a knock at the door. The heat was back with a vengeance, and it made Caspar feel sluggish and gross where he was normally an early riser. It wasn't every day that Fódlan was this humid, so he didn't count it as a huge inconvenience as he dragged himself out of bed and yelled asking for a second so he could get dressed. He sent a glance over to a still-asleep Linhardt, who drowsily grabbed a pillow to hug as a replacement.

He opened the door, and glanced forward with tired eyes. "Oh, hey." It was Cyril, with a letter in his hands. He handed it over with a murmur and Caspar curiously glanced over the words scrawled atop it, ragged and with the pen pressed too hard against the paper. Suddenly, his blood went cold and he shot an alarmed look at his messenger. "This is... from my father?"

"Uh-huh. I was supposed to tell ya it's urgent." At those words Cyril's eyes dragged past his shoulders, and Caspar could swear he saw a shadow of a smile on his lips. "Ah, sorry. Guess I should get going now."

Caspar turned his head to follow the tactless gaze locked onto Caspar's bed (or, more accurately, onto Linhardt sleeping peacefully atop it). He frantically whipped his head back around and spread his arms across the doorway. "Woah, man, it's not what you think!" he insisted, mortified and with his face aflame.

"Riiiight. Well, I'm still gonna go." Cyril nodded politely and took his leave, and Caspar shut the door and groaned as he slid down to the ground against it. What a bad time for his father to send a letter. Or maybe it was a bad time to have a sleepover with Linhardt. Either way, he was wide awake now, and before he broke into the letter, he wiped the sweat gathering on his neck and yelled over to the bed.

"Linhardt, wake up!" He gathered his willpower and went over to shake him awake. "C'mon, man, shouldn't you go get dressed?"

Linhardt mumbled sleepy words and then yawned as he opened his eyes halfway. "Do you intend to kick me out?" he said, looking nonchalantly up at Caspar.

"You gotta leave eventually, you know." ...And he really needed to read this letter. But he sure wasn't going to carry him back to his room himself, so negotiation was key here. Luckily Linhardt relented and trudged out of Caspar's room, and the moment he shut the door behind him Caspar set the letter flat on his desk and inhaled a deep, deep breath. He tore open the ornate envelope and slid out the stationary.

_Caspar,_

_We've written to tell you that Ivan has fallen terribly ill. For now we don't know for certain how serious his condition is, but nevertheless at the earliest opportunity you should visit the estate, in case of the worst outcome. Offer your professor our personal apologies for your absence._

In every other sense, it was a typical letter from his family: detached and short. But his brother was seriously sick? It was really strange, since he was never the type to do anything reckless (well, maybe a little bit, but certainly not as much as Caspar, which was probably why he got sick a lot). That's why, though perhaps his heart started beating faster seeing the words from his family, he wasn't too worried about his brother. Surely he'd pull through. Caspar's stomach twisted and turned at the idea of any other outcome, although he felt a bit guilty for it.

Nonetheless, he went to find Professor Byleth as his father told him to do. On off days, they were usually in their office or fishing, and Caspar found them at the former after way too much wandering.

"Professor Byleth! There you are!" he shouted, and Byleth turned to Caspar, eyes wide — but he wasn't sure if it was from surprise, since nothing else in their expression changed much. He was pretty sure Edelgard must be giving them smiling lessons or something, because it seemed like for the seven or so weeks they'd been teaching at Garreg Mach their expressions were getting less and less rigid. Slowly. But still. It was a little bit comforting to know that they were trying. He tried to speak clearly as he faced the professor, who still had their toes dipped into the pond.

"Professor, I might have to go back to my house for a few days. My older brother's sick, and my father's always way too worried about him, so he told me I should come and visit." Byleth stared at him for a moment. Then they nodded.

"Okay."

Caspar stared back. And then slowly nodded in return. "Uh, right. Okay."

He was beginning to turn awkwardly away when Byleth said one more thing, elbows locked tight and hands resting on the dock.

"Good luck," they added with an ever-stiff smile. And Caspar nodded again.

When Caspar knocked on the door of his family's estate, he found himself dreading the moment he would be answered. The place was too familiar — just as he had adjusted to living in the academy's dormitories, he was hit again with the memory of his home, and it was hard to fight back nostalgia. Not that he had many particularly fond memories, but just living there under the roof of the estate, with its gardens and long, never-ending halls and chandeliers and grand staircases, reminded him of another time. He remembered his father teaching him the proper way to swing a sword, his brother chasing him relentlessly through the woods, his mother licking her thumb and rubbing the dirt off his face when he played too rough.

Tired of waiting for a response, Caspar opened the door to see his father before him, who stared at him harshly. All of those memories were familiar, yet suddenly, stepping foot into his home again, he couldn't exactly say he felt welcome. "How is he?" he asked eagerly as soon as his father glowered over him. It was almost strange to Caspar to see his father like this, as if they were close. The man wasn't tall by any stretch of the imagination (Caspar knew even Mother was taller than him), and he had intense and dark eyes, circles of age beginning to form beneath them. His hands, crossed across his chest, had scars littered on them just as his face did, and they always seemed to be calloused and dirty. At his son's question, Count Bergliez sighed irritatedly. Appearing from behind him as if to relieve his annoyance, his mother patted his shoulder and shook her head.

"They told us he'll be fine." His father gravely nodded in agreement with her, and she grabbed Caspar's shoulders to look him over, probably checking to make sure he hadn't broken anything. She was a leaner woman, with frizzy hair that suited her sporadic demeanor. She too had scars littering her body from her many battles, but one that was always especially prominent in Caspar's memories was a large one right across her cheek. He shrugged away from his mother's grip, but then smiled at the news.

"Oh, that's good!" Caspar chirped. "But I guess I can't go in and say hey? Where's he at? Guest room?"

His mother smiled exasperatingly and quickly held her hand out to stop her second son from charging up the stairs. "Yes. And the doctor said we shouldn't disturb him." She added that last part looking Caspar straight in the eye, then she let go. Caspar relented, knowing she meant business.

Count Bergliez suddenly cleared his throat. "Since Ivan's going to make a full recovery, I better not hear you're slacking off, Caspar!" He patted his son's head and smiled. "With this, you might even be able to beat him out if you really try."

"And I could even beat you!" Caspar pushed, meeting his father's gaze.

His father cocked his eyebrows and nodded. "Maybe one day," he said, though it was clear from his expression that he didn't truly believe it. He moved on quickly. "How's the academy? I hear they went and got a new professor for your class."

"Awesome! Sparring with them is really fun, they're so quick and strong!"

His mother raised her eyebrows and chimed in, "Oh, really? Actually, now that you mention that guest bedroom, how is little Linhardt doing in the Officer's Academy?" She looked troubled and her expression scrunched up. "I was worried when Count Hevring told us he was going to enroll him after all. That child always looked like he could eat a little more. Surely he's not one for battle."

Before Caspar could answer, his father cut in: "That's for damn sure. I can't fathom why he'd send his failure of a son out there. Such a waste. He ought to just find another heir, the old bastard."

Painfully Caspar nodded along and bit back his tongue. When it came to matters of Count Hevring, it was best to just agree with anything his father said, even if it was stupid. He knew if his father were anyone else, he probably would've given him a punch hard enough to crack his jaw for saying something like that about someone he cared about. He looked helplessly to his mother and she offered an apologetic look as consolation.

They were so ridiculous — they hated each other, but clearly not enough to prevent their children from spending so much time together. Caspar remembered all the times his father would pit him against Linhardt as a ploy to test his superiority against the other count. Caspar always felt terrible pinning Linhardt down with a wooden sword to his throat, but Linhardt always just looked up blankly, not seeming like he cared all that much. Sometimes he even tried to close his eyes and fall asleep right there under the blade. Thinking about it, that was probably why Caspar's father never exactly took much of a liking to Linhardt, since there was nothing he hated more than lazy people.

Caspar's mother leaned over to her husband and whispered something, and meanwhile Caspar pushed forward, rushing upstairs to his bedroom. Once he had thrown his luggage onto his bed, the daylight escaped from its hiding place behind the clouds and caught Caspar's eye. He wandered over to the window, and from it he could see his favorite garden and the path that led to it, and the edge of the woods which lay adjacent. The garden looked drab — the plants were brittle and grey, and Caspar suspected they hadn't been tended to in a long time. There was a lonely stone bench and a fountain that didn't run, and pots were scattered around the area carelessly, encrusted in overgrown weeds and dying vines.

And the woods next to the garden were as eerie as ever. Caspar remembered how when he was very young his brother used to tell him stories about that forest, and then he swore he'd never go near it. That's how it was, until one day when Linhardt endeavored to venture into the forest and unearth its secrets. Caspar reluctantly followed him (luckily for Caspar, there were no such secrets to speak of), and after that, it became their favorite place to play at, and each day Caspar would want to wander further and further. He'd always dream about encountering a band of thieves or a monster and he and Linhardt taking them out all by themselves in those woods.

Now, Caspar knelt down against the windowsill, feeling the sun warm his skin. Since the heat spell those couple days ago, the clouds had invaded the sky in sprawling tufts, and it had cooled down. Though he wasn't prone to relaxing so much, suddenly seeing his father in such a concentrated dose like that always exhausted him, and the sunlight mingled with the blue of the sky to relieve his nerves. He closed his eyes. He'd wake up in an hour or two, surely.

(

_Caspar was swinging his sword at an imaginary enemy when he first saw Father speaking with a stranger. The man was tall and terribly thin, with wide and paranoid eyes plaguing his expression. He spoke with an uncertain tone about him, and his nose scrunched up during certain unpleasant strings of words. Caspar's sword lay at his waist as he took hesitant steps toward Father, all of their confusing words passing right through him._

_"Looks as if it might rain," the tall, unfamiliar man fretted. Caspar looked up at the sky from his hiding spot behind Father, and it was a milky grey fading darker and darker the further out it stretched. "From the smell of it, it seems as if supper's nearly ready, too."_

_"Where has your son wandered off to, anyway?" Father suddenly asked, looking around. "Not getting into trouble, hopefully!"_

_"No," the tall man answered with a sigh, "this is how it always is. He roams all over the place, not a care in the world."_

_"I oughta track him down and teach the kid a lesson, then —"_

_Quickly, Caspar shot out from behind Father in his fancy clothes Mother had forced him into that morning, wooden sword gripped in hand. "I can find him!" he shouted, heart pounding. Father gave him a strange look, and tugged Caspar out in front of the stranger. Caspar paused for a long time before realizing he was supposed to be introducing himself like Mother had practiced with him earlier._

_"I'm, um, Caspar. I'm Ivan's little brother. I'm six and a quarter."_

_The man offered a kind albeit awkward smile and leaned down to shake Caspar's hand. "Hello there, Caspar. My son happens to be a sneaky one — he likes to lay down places, so make sure you check every nook and cranny, alright?"_

_Caspar bobbed his head in affirmation and trotted off. He heard Father laughing with the tall man behind him, but he didn't know what they were laughing about. Adults were so strange. For a while he wandered and hoped whoever the boy was he didn't go into the woods because Ivan told him that if you did you were cursed to get lost forever. So instead he checked the stables and the training room, and then he went into the garden his Mother liked the most, with a stone path leading to it. It was always a bright green with all the lush greenery growing within it, but that day the color seemed to be dulled by the greying of the sky. Caspar almost turned around to give up after he skimmed the area — then he saw him, laying down beneath the stone bench._

_The sleeping boy was lanky, but unlike his father he was ghostly pale. His long dark hair draped over his face and hid his eyes, and he slept with his mouth peacefully shut. Not hesitating, Caspar knelt down and shook him awake with vigor, taking satisfaction from the small victory. The boy grimaced as he squinted open his eyes._

_"Who are you?" he grumbled once he gathered his bearings._

_"I'm Caspar. I'm Ivan's little brother. I'm six and a quarter."_

_"Who's Ivan?"_

_"He's my brother. Your father told me to come get you cause it's time to eat and it's gonna rain. Oh, um, what's your name?"_

_"... Linhardt," the boy replied. "I'm five."_

_Caspar grinned, delighted. "That means I'm older than you!"_

_"I'm gonna turn six next month..." Linhardt pouted, and crossed his arms._

_"Why were you sleeping in the garden?"_

_Linhardt opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a word Caspar heard a distant call from inside the manor, and he stood up quickly. "That's Father," he told him. "C'mon, let's go."_

_At dinner, it was very quiet save for the wild chatter between their two fathers. Caspar watched the long-haired boy pick at his food from across the long table he could scarcely see over. There was something mystifying about him — Caspar had never seen another boy his age before, but Linhardt was so different from how he imagined other kids to be like. His father always gave him weapons to play with, saying boys should learn to fight as soon as they could if they wanted to be tough. But the new boy merely slept in the garden, as if he didn't care at all about fighting or running. Caspar was sad he was only visiting, because he would have thought to ask him if he had a weapon of his own that he liked, or if he liked to play pretend smacking down bad guys like Caspar did._

_So after he waved him and his father goodbye, he sheepishly tugged on Mother's sleeve about wanting him to visit again soon, and she smiled._

)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twt @selfguise  
> a warning that tags/warnings are subject to change as the fic continues to update to reflect developments in new chapters (since i want the tags to reflect the actual published content). i hope u enjoyed this chapter and have a good day ^^


	2. a dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I dunno," he said again. "It just kinda worked out like that. Once you know someone for long enough, you're friends whether you like it or not."

As it turned out, Linhardt proved to be rather skilled in the art of white magic. Though he insisted on lingering in the back and his complaints were unspoken but obvious, he was strangely reliable — the sickly pale light always seemed to be in his palms when his teammates looked back at him. No one else in their class studied white magic, so in that sense, keeping everyone alive was Linhardt's burden to bear. In the time Caspar had known him, the most he'd ever known how to do was hold steady his fingers and patch up a small scrape. But now that he knew he was there to keep an eye on him, it was easy (well, easier) for Caspar to throw himself into the fight. There was something exhilarating about putting your life in someone else's hands, he always thought, and he wondered if Linhardt would ever be able to experience the feeling.

Reminders of death would come to him as sudden rushes, like someone had knocked the breath out of him and he was only then trying to inhale and realizing it. Those moments when he could feel the sweat rolling down his neck, and when the dully burning sensation in his arm became a searing pain; this was when he could no longer pretend he was invincible. And yet, it was also when he could pull back and see that he was indeed being cared for so diligently it was as if the goddess herself was watching over him. It was because there was always a white light mending his wounds before his eyes that Caspar felt he could never die. Linhardt often looked worn out from muttering the same healing spells over and over again, but Caspar would never tire of it.

Month by month, missions came and went and Caspar went on living his simple life just as he pleased. He jumped into fights and got bruises; he received the occasional curt letter from his father asking just how many bandits he'd brought to justice; he sparred with Professor Byleth and watched their smile grow wider. The Ethereal Moon crept up on everyone, the time of a grand ball and of an even grander tragedy. After such a lively event as the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, everyone seemed excited to enjoy the simple joys of attending a party, and a constant buzzing chatter came over the entire monastery. Caspar himself recalled attending many balls in his lifetime, always approaching his mother's friends and brightly talking at them, or pushing a pair of quarreling noble boys apart. So he was able to nod and say he was looking forward to the event, but he never really got why other nobles were so _obsessed_ with them. After all, it was essentially just dancing and talking, wasn't it?

It was so weird, but Caspar knew that it wasn't the first time he didn't understand the noble appeal of something, and it wouldn't be the last, either. It wasn't like he had a ton of intimate experience with balls and receptions or any sort of special occasion, either — the formalities were left to his brother nine times out of ten. It seemed fun, though. His father would introduce his wife and first son with a huge smile he seldom saw otherwise, and then almost as an afterthought would wave to the second child beside him, trying to push between his locked legs and straightened posture to be acknowledged. And he remembered his mother arguing with the seamstress to get her dress just right, and he remembered the frantic air that would fill their home the night before they'd all head off to some other noble's territory. His own mother would scrub him in the bath to make sure he got the dirt off his feet and then he'd be hurriedly stuffed into brand new clothes, but then he'd be left with a pat on the head and he'd halfheartedly trudge behind his brother to board the carriage.

So the ball wasn't so exciting. It was just important nobles mingling with other important nobles, essentially — and Caspar didn't feel like an important noble. Not really. It would a repeat of every other ball he'd attended, just goofing off and looking nice. However, one morning, a few weeks prior to the big event, Byleth (with a desperate Edelgard trailing behind, one-sidedly arguing with them about something) walked into the dining hall from the fishing pond.

"Professor Byleth, I insist that you seriously consider your —"

A glare from the professor rendered Edelgard speechless, and she relented as Byleth approached the table that Caspar sat at, along with Ferdinand, Linhardt, Ashe, and Hilda (and Hubert, lurking at the very end). For a moment they didn't say anything, only slapped their hands onto the tabletop and leaned over as the table hushed, everyone's tones soft and curious. Edelgard stood behind them still with a contrarian cross of the arms. Caspar didn't bother to look over, while Hilda's eyes perked up and Ferdinand stared intently as if waiting for something.

"Linhardt, can I speak with you in the courtyard?" they finally said, and immediately the table dissolved into protest. More specifically, Ferdinand's protest.

"I object!" Ferdinand, whose posture straightened in his chair, shouted. "If this is regarding the White Heron Cup as I suspect, then I cannot abide by Linhardt, who possesses such lackluster noble prowess when in comparison to I, for example, to be selected! It is simply an outrage!"

"Ooh, so this _is_ about the White Heron Cup?" Hilda perked up. "Wow, Professor Byleth sure has some weird taste. But it is kinda endearing, I guess."

Ashe cut in, "Don't say that, Hilda! I'm sure the professor has a good reason for their —"

Everyone waited for clarification, but the chatter only became more and more incessant. Unfazed by the commotion, Linhardt suddenly stood and nodded at Byleth, bringing the bickering to a temporary quiet. Then, Ferdinand spoke again, fostering a pleading expression that was so characteristic of him. "But, Linhardt is —"

"He's inferior to you, I presume?" The remark was made by Hubert, his whispered but potent voice making the table recoil. "Arrogance, to put faith in your own foolish judgement above your professor's."

"What do you even care, _you_...!" Ferdinand's eyes snapped to meet Hubert's. They continued on like that, and Caspar watched Linhardt follow Byleth out of the dining hall. He had been quiet the entire time, but after everyone had calmed down again, he heaved out a simple "Huh." and finished eating. The White Heron Cup seemed fun enough, but he really did wonder why Byleth wanted Linhardt of all people to enter. Then again — although Linhardt wasn't too crazy about pointless formalities like dancing, Caspar imagined it was probably more appealing to him than studying warfare. He was sentimental like that.

Well, it would have been fun if Caspar was chosen for it, but he wasn't, and that was that. With that acceptance in mind, he stacked his dishes on the counter and began his familiar journey to the training grounds. But that conviction didn't stay very long, for Caspar's path led him right by the courtyard. And Linhardt was, indeed, dancing.

The professor held Linhardt by the shoulder, stiffly pointing to his next step and guiding his body. Though his movements were still unsure, they were so... graceful. Graceful like the poise with which he placed his hands on the gash on Dorothea's side, injured beside him. Or like the way his voice abandoned its sluggish drag when someone spoke of Crests to him. Was he always like that? Was there something that Byleth had seen about Linhardt that had passed Caspar's perception until now?

A student brushed his shoulder as they passed by and it was only then that Caspar realized he had stopped dead in his tracks. Ugh, what was he _doing_?

If Caspar would've had time to slap some sense into himself, he would have done so, but as he was realizing his fumble he also happened to notice a pair of blue eyes staring at him from the courtyard. Staring from over Byleth's shoulder, squinting like he was accusing Caspar of something. Frantically, Caspar shook his head in denial. He didn't actually know what Linhardt was trying to ask, but he never wanted to take any chances with that guy. And then he blinked and Byleth was nodding approvingly and Linhardt was walking away. As soon as he noticed, Caspar dashed to his side, a smile on his face.

"Dude, you looked so cool like that! Have you been taking secret dance lessons or something?"

"On the contrary," Linhardt frowned. He definitely didn't look as energized as he did just moments before. "That's the first time I've ever bothered to properly dance. Can't say it's as exciting as they say."

"Oh, c'mon, it's gotta be fun!" They were rounding the corner to the dorms now, and Linhardt was fondly eyeing his dorm room. "Especially for you, Lin, with all that slow moving—"

"You can do it, then. Professor Byleth has gone mad if they think I can." He sighed. "Especially with the entire Remire business. I'd like to stay far away from large numbers of people, or I fear I'm going to start counting all the veins in their faces again."

At the reminder of the incident at Remire Village, Caspar felt his breath catch. It wasn't a sore topic, per say, but it did make his blood boil even now. "It sucks. Everyone's acting like nothing happened..." But now, Caspar had already burnt out the rage he felt at the incident. It filled him again on sudden occasions, but now simply stewed inside him. Even he acted now as if the event was nothing but a bad dream. He felt helpless, and so he swallowed it all down and stopped outside Linhardt's room. Usually, this was where they parted.

"Well, goodnight," Linhardt declared and in a quick motion stepped into his room.

"No, wait wait wait!" Caspar grabbed him by the back of his collar. "Jeez. Do you really think I should do the White Heron Cup?"

Linhardt gave a sigh, signaling defeat. Caspar was too short to fully illustrate the idea, but with Linhardt's collar pulled up over his head he looked like a cat being scolded for stealing from the pantry. "You probably want to do it more than I do, anyway," he whined.

Caspar pouted. "I'd take you up on that, but you're only saying that so I'll leave you alone, aren't you?"

"Yes. It is true, though."

Caspar let go of Linhardt's collar. The ruffled boy flicked his bangs out of his face and looked down at him. Caspar realized he did not detect a trace of pity in his expression, like he was half-expecting. But of course there wasn't. It was Linhardt, after all — if there was one person who wouldn't think _Oh right, he's the second son, it's only natural_ in a situation like this, it would be him. Emboldened, Caspar smiled and passionately proposed, "How about we have a competition? Whoever does the dance better should be the rep. Good idea, right?"

Linhardt only yawned. "I suppose."

"Yes, alright! I... uh... don't actually know the dance."

"Hm. I suppose that makes me the winner by technicality?"

"No! Teach it to me first!" Caspar knelt down and folded his hands together. "Please, Linhardt! I can't go down like this!"

"Ugh." Linhardt turned his back on him and stepped into his room. _Click_. With the door shut in front of him and candlelight leaking from the cracks, the blue shades of approaching nighttime shook Caspar even more. Wait, he didn't think Linhardt would actually refuse—

"Linhaaaardt...! What the hell...?!" Caspar cried — he couldn't despair for very long, though, because it was a only moment before Dorothea gingerly poked her head out of her room and called out.

"Will you boys stop fighting?" Her face was more exasperated than angry, but as always, she kept up a sweet smile. "The entire dormitory has to listen to you two arguing, you know."

Caspar shouted back at her tearfully. "It's Linhardt's fault; he locked me out!"

"I don't quite remember locking the door," Linhardt remarked, voice muffled by the door. Then he yawned again. "Don't you have your own room to get to?"

"But you promised!"

"No, I did no such thing." Pause. Then a sudden thump as Caspar fell to the floor — the door he was leaning on was suddenly thrown open. Caspar blinked his eyes open to see Linhardt coldly staring at him. "Come on," he told him, "I'm sleepy."

Of course Caspar had seen Linhardt's room before, but it was a little different seeing everything inside lit by candlelight. A sudden nostalgic feeling washed over him, seeing the books and papers strewn lazily about. It was just like his study at his family's estate, where you couldn't see the walls because there were always some sketches or illegibly curly writing pinned to every empty space, and you couldn't see the floor because there were half-finished books about any imaginable topic stacked everywhere you looked.

Linhardt began with a tired stretch. "Okay, first you have to... hold your arms out like this..." He gestured, and Caspar mimicked him earnestly.

"This isn't so bad!" Caspar insisted as he went through the first motions he had learned, then paused and shook his head as he noticed his friend sitting down on his rumpled bed, his eyes fluttering shut. "Linhardt, c'mon, stand up and help me!" He reached out and yanked his arm so he was off the bed, but didn't receive much enthusiasm in return.

Linhardt, barely awake, squinted up at Caspar from his half-kneeling position on the floor. "You're doing it all wrong anyway... Too erratic... lacks flow..."Another yawn. "This is hopeless..."

"C'mon, just show me the rest! I'll... clean your room! Or give you my dessert tomorrow?"

Linhardt groaned. "Fine. Here. It'll be more efficient this way."

Linhardt properly stood and took hold of Caspar's wrists with all the firmness and objectivity of a scholar. Caspar's eyes widened in surprise. "Woah. You really wanna get rid of me this badly?"

"You're clearly inept at learning any other way." Linhardt rolled his eyes. "Now, watch. You'll make a fool of yourself if you pump your fist like that. The motion I was shown is much smoother."

Linhardt moved his arm for him, but in the moment, Caspar lent his attention not to Linhardt's instruction, but to their height difference. He had always been taller, but Caspar especially cursed it when it was obvious like this, when Linhardt was standing right over him — eyes pointed down, back bent a little to accommodate. And he supposed that this is exactly how it would be if they were truly dancing together, but... It would never come to pass, would it? After all, if their families were interested in political marriage, it would have been arranged long ago.

His heart jumped when he realized there was a lull of silence that he let drag on for a little too long, and his body moved on its own to make up for it; _I totally wasn't paying attention_ , he knocked himself, feeling Linhardt's skeptical gaze burning into him. "O-Oh, right! It's like th—" he began to justify his quietness, but was cut off by his own stumble. In the pause, Linhardt had apparently shifted his foot to where Caspar had tried to step, and...

Well. Now Caspar was back to the floor of Linhardt's room, sheepishly looking up. He stared at the ceiling in disbelief for a long, long moment. Then he sighed. "I..." Pause. "I dunno if I'm cut out for this."

Linhardt's expression was blank for a half-second longer before he burst into suppressed laughter, barely trying to conceal his smile.

"Linhardt! What the heck?!" Caspar felt his face heat up. "Don't laugh!"

"Sorry, sorry, I just —" He stifled a giggle. "It is a little funny."

"You didn't even catch me!"

"If I had held on, I would have fallen with you. I had no choice but to let go." Linhardt rarely laughed so freely, and the smile on his face quickly faded as if it had never been there at all. Caspar frowned — even if at his expense, he liked seeing Linhardt when he wasn't so stiff and serious. In fact, that mirthful smile even suited Linhardt, even more than the restrained ones he offered from time to time. He was so fast to be rid of it, like it was a switch he could turn off if he wanted to, like it was a mistake that invited a swift correction.

"Aw, but you could probably use some roughing around anyway with how thin you are," Caspar complained. "Well, whatever. I don't need some dumb dancing contest anyway."

"Quite quick to change our minds, aren't we?" Linhardt teased, then yawned. "If that's how you feel, then leave. I've lost sleep thanks to your pointless meddling."

"Fine, but you shouldn't shut yourself in again! How about breakfast tomorrow?"

"Hmm... No, I think I'm quite content to shut myself in."

"Okay..." Caspar glanced away for a second. "I'll come around anyway if you get hungry. In case you change your mind."

"I'll eat. I fear I won't have the energy to read otherwise." Sigh. "I promise," Linhardt enunciated. "That's what you want to hear, right?"

"Right on the money! 'Night, Lin!"

There was a great quiet after the door to Linhardt's room shut. Lately, it was fewer and further in between that he would spend so much time around Linhardt. It made him a little nervous; it wasn't like him to worry about someone, but he did worry about Linhardt way more than he ever used to. Linhardt could never make friends like he could — even when he'd used to drag him out of his room to try to make him and Caspar's other friends get along, he'd stick his nose down and hardly speak. And when Caspar wasn't dragging him around, Linhardt was almost always shut inside his room. Though the academy was exciting for Caspar, full of new people and enticing action — he couldn't help but think that every step he took forward felt the same as a step away from his childhood. And sometimes he had the thought that he was afraid of losing it. Of losing him.

Did that mean Dorothea was right? He did take care of Linhardt, in that sense — perhaps trying to convince himself that he could have both, that he could drag Linhardt along with him. And his heart was hammering now as he raced up the stairs to his room as he mulled all of this over. That was weird, too. But the time he did manage to spend with Linhardt was always comforting, normal. Would he have to give that all up someday, when the two of them graduate and go their separate ways?

_"Please handle all the killing for me."_

Caspar's hand lingered around the knob to his door. His eyes suddenly felt very, very heavy.

"... Somehow, he appears even paler than usual," Ferdinand noted gravely. Caspar could feel his grip tighten under Linhardt's shoulder, and without words, he nodded in agreement. Ferdinand merely shook his head and gazed at Linhardt again. "I worry about him, you know. Quite a lot, actually."

"Really? It's crazy you manage to hold a conversation with those manners of his," Caspar commented. "Well, he's always been like this. Grossed out by blood."

"Ah, that's right. The two sons of the ministers of military and domestic affairs; it's natural you would know one another."

"He hasn't mentioned me...?!" Caspar glanced over one shoulder to observe the unconscious Linhardt yet again. He was barely recognizable with all the blood on him — soaking his clothes and spattered about his face and coating his palms. The enemy ambush had surprised them, and Linhardt might have sustained even worse injuries if Ferdinand had not spotted it and thrown his weapon between them. Linhardt had been fine at the time, even if he was a little green with nausea — but in an instant everything was red, most prominently Linhardt himself standing in front of Ferdinand and the bloody tip of his lance.

It was the first time Linhardt had actually passed out at the sight of blood. But more than the mere sight of blood, Caspar was sure that blood overloaded every single one of Linhardt's senses at the time. At first he was shocked it took such a grotesque turn of events for it to come to this, but before he knew it, Ferdinand and himself were responsible for taking him to the infirmary for examination, and the slumped weight on his shoulders kept him too distracted to be in denial.

Ferdinand cleared his throat. "I actually wanted to apologize to him for... Well, my words were not exactly savory when Professor Byleth chose him for the White Heron Cup. I'm quite embarrassed about it, actually."

"He's not really the type to get bugged by that stuff, so you shouldn't get in a twist about it," Caspar reassured him awkwardly. "And, you did just save his life and everything."

The two boys shared a moment of silence after the morbid statement, avoiding eye contact. Ferdinand exhaled softly. Both of their breaths left puffs of white in the air. "I just didn't mean to insinuate that he wasn't up to the task. In fact, recently, I've been getting him to complete a lap around the monastery grounds with me some mornings." He smiled apologetically. "Well, he does always lie down and sleep wherever we happen to stop at, but it is an improvement. I hope to understand him better."

"Trust me, man, it doesn't get any easier."

"Hmm." Ferdinand looked over at Linhardt again. "In that case, if I may ask without offending, why did Linhardt come to the Officer's Academy? He is certainly talented, but I cannot imagine it was of his own accord."

Caspar looked pensively down at the ground. "I dunno. Probably cause his family wants an heir and they needed to whip him into shape."

"Yes, I know the necessity of such things, yet..." Ferdinand clutched the grip of his lance. "Truly, it is disappointing that a boy with such talent was forced into such a draining environment for him... And I also wonder how you came to be close with such a person. After all, you are more hardworking than most other students here at the academy, Caspar. It is very strange indeed."

"I dunno," he said again. "It just kinda worked out like that. Once ya know someone for long enough, you're friends whether you like it or not."

They left it at that until they reached the monastery, trudging into the infirmary and stretching their backs in relief. Linhardt still slept peacefully — as peaceful as he could look caked in crimson.

"Thank you, boys," Manuela sighed when she had Linhardt laid down and a wet rag in her hand. She gently dabbed away at his head as she spoke, evidently checking for injuries. "From what I see, I think he's unharmed. Just knocked out pretty hard. Did he hit his head?"

"N-No, he just gets sick when there's a lot of blood," Caspar explained. "This is the first time he's passed out."

"Hm. Then I don't doubt it, with all the blood on him." She nodded and waved her hand. "Thanks for bringing him here. I'll make sure he gets cleaned up. You can go."

Caspar glanced at Linhardt one final time. Looking at his hair, clumped together at parts and indistinguishable from the green it usually was — or the splotches of pale skin beginning to show on his face as Manuela washed away the cracking blood. His eyes were closed, and his fingertips were curled inward. Caspar nodded politely and stepped out of the infirmary, Ferdinand at his side.

"Uh, Ferdinand. Thanks." He looked over at Ferdinand, who seemed also to be lost in thought. "For helping Linhardt. Since he probably won't have the sense to thank you himself."

Ferdinand blinked. "Oh, ah — of course! It is my duty as a nobleman to assist those in need! You are lucky it was I who was near Linhardt, and not Edelgard, or she surely would have left poor Linhardt to the axe of that brigand."

"For once, you miiight be right about that," Caspar laughed. "She's intense."

"Indeed, you could say that. Nobles need exercise strictness, but Edelgard can be quite brutish about it. I hope I was able to set an example for her."

"... Right." Caspar glanced around, searching for an out. "Welp, I'm gonna go get something to eat. You should probably... clean up, too." He still had blood on him, though the majority was deferred to Linhardt.

Caspar pursed his lips as he bid Ferdinand farewell. A fleeting thought — some mixture of surprise, satisfaction, confusion — passed through him. He always thought Ferdinand was kind of a weirdo, but in a different way from Linhardt. Where Linhardt was always detached, sometimes insensitive, Ferdinand was strangely fixated on doing things a particular way, with a particular demeanor. It was actually rather unusual of him to come forward with a blunder, which was why Caspar pondered it for this short moment. His interactions with him had never been quite so pleasant. And... he had bonded with Linhardt, it sounded like.

The White Heron Cup passed by almost insignificantly. Linhardt lost — though as Caspar watched, his expression didn't move as they announced as much. He didn't seem to mind the result, so Caspar never bothered him about it. For a little bit, though, there was a little bitter taste in his mouth about it; for just a little bit, Linhardt had shown an interest in the idea. It was there in his discontented frown when Caspar did the steps wrong, in his graceful, precise movements in the courtyard, and in his carefree laugh. But, well, there was apathy in each of those things, too. There had always been an apathy in everything Linhardt did.

And after the White Heron Cup, of course, was the ball. Edelgard had ceased waltzing with her admirers for a moment to scold Bernadetta for trying to hide beneath a table, while Dorothea was insistently introducing Petra to a small group of men that seemed more interested in whisking her away to dance. Hubert stood far away from the crowd, a grimace on his face — there was a certain distance other partygoers kept from him, as if they expected to disintegrate under his very gaze. And Ferdinand danced, of course, his brash personality evidently not enough to keep red-faced students away.

Caspar played a similar role he always did in such events: he loitered around, chatted a little with his friends, broke up a fight here or there. Somehow he always felt responsible for keeping the peace (which is why he kept a blade on his hip even now). At one point late in the night he happened upon Dorothea and Linhardt speaking, and hopped over to listen in.

"Aw, it'll be okay, Lin," was the first thing he heard. Dorothea's voice was lighthearted, almost like she was giving him a hard time — though that wasn't uncommon for her, especially with Linhardt, who pushed everyone's buttons.

Upon seeing Caspar approach them, Linhardt sighed, ignoring her, and said to him, "I had never imagined I would be doing so much dancing in one night. Perhaps I should invest in better shoes."

Dorothea rolled her eyes. "You know, Lin, maybe you should start taking it more seriously if you're so popular. I'm pretty sure you made a girl cry."

"Woah, what did you do?" Caspar chimed in. "Bullying girls isn't cool, Linhardt."

"I was behaving normally. Blame her unrealistic expectations instead." Linhardt squinted his eyes in displeasure. "Huh. I think I'll go to bed."

For a second Caspar was disappointed he could not steal a proper dance from Linhardt, so that this time it did not end with Caspar tripping and embarrassing himself. He had seen Linhardt accept dances from more than a few girls, and he was still as graceful as he had been before, even if he did nod off a few times during particularly mellow chords in the music. It was difficult to imagine them as equals — at least not like that, standing face to face, being so serious. Still, Caspar had felt whispers of it.

"Oh, I'll crash too." He trotted after Linhardt as he turned.

"If you insist." He waved halfheartedly to Dorothea as he yawned again. "Goodnight."

The entrance hall was buzzing with lingering students. Since the night was getting long, many of them were only mumbling amongst themselves, perhaps preparing to make like Linhardt and retire to bed themselves. The room was lit by the light of a chandelier, and their footsteps clicked on top of the chatter.

"So, it was fun, right?" Caspar smiled at Linhardt, though his eyes were half-closed. "You got to dance a lot, didn't you? Did you warm up to it?"

"Mm," Linhardt hummed lukewarmly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Caspar peered in at him, trying to speak over the other voices. "Dude, are you even — Ugh!" He suddenly cut himself off and whipped around, giving the small group of students to their side a glare. "What are you laughing at?!"

One boy recoiled at the sudden confrontation. "Uh, nothing!" he insisted. A girl beside him was smirking still, and hesitantly she shifted her eyes to Linhardt, who was still walking, though he had paused for a second to look, unfazed, upon the confrontation.

"He was in the White Heron Cup, right?" She prefaced, then snorted offhandedly. "Useless noble."

"You wanna say that again?" Caspar took a step forward, and they locked eyes. Something about the girl's posture made him think she didn't really have the skill for real conflict, but there was a zeal in her eyes that convinced him she'd put up a good fight anyway.

"Use-less," she sounded out. "Lazy. People like him don't deserve to be here. Get it?"

"What do you know?!" Before Caspar knew it, his fists were tightened and his face felt hot with frustration. But before he got to feel the release of the first swing into the girl's smug face, he felt a firm tug on his sleeve. He glanced over, and met the blue of Linhardt's exasperated eyes.

"Let's go," he insisted. "Being forced to look at your black eye for the next two weeks isn't my ideal."

Caspar pivoted to argue with him. "But she can't just get away with saying that! Don't you care?"

"No, I don't. Don't just get violent on my behalf."

Caspar glared at the girl (who looked rather satisfied with herself), and then back to Linhardt. "But... that can't be okay!"

"It is." Without any further declarations, Linhardt began walking to the dorms again. Caspar watched his back for a second before he chased after him. Honestly, he still thought the girl was deserving of a good beatdown, but he wasn't really comfortable leaving Linhardt alone in that strangely mellow state of his.

He did think sometimes it was weird how little they fought. It wasn't that they never disagreed — it was just usually resolved without an issue, just brushed aside the moment they met eyes. Caspar wondered if he would have done that were it anyone else — sure, he got upset on his friends' behalves all the time, but time and time again that feeling tended to cloud his judgement, made him realize halfway through that he didn't really think twice. With Linhardt, it was almost like he was being splashed with water, no — like he was what tethered him to reality. What was he thinking? Why did he glare in such a disapproving way? Why did his eyes seem to show a deeper kind of exhaustion?

They walked side-by-side. Caspar looked at the ground and to the sky — anywhere except at Linhardt — but still his mouth moved by itself to fill the silence. "Well, even if you didn't like it, I thought the ball was super fun! I managed to get Bernadetta to dance with someone — well, it was just Professor Byleth, but still — and there was this one fight outside the hall where I came in and gave this guy who was bothering a girl a piece of my mind, and Edelgard happened to see it and I thought she was gonna come over and chew me out, but she just kept walking. Oh, and Ferdinand actually managed to convince Hubert to dance with him after he stood in the same place like the entire time. Did you see it? They were bickering the whole time, but —"

Caspar went on like this one-sidedly until the dorms were in sight. "In the end, I never did get to dance, cause Bernadetta was too jumpy and everyone else was busy," he concluded. "You couldn't even enjoy it for me?"

Linhardt took a deep, sleepy breath. "Too many responsibilities."

"What?"

"I've known from the start, but it's really all too burdensome." He gestured vaguely with his hand. "A ball, then a dance, then engagement. You mean to say you don't think of it like that?" He waited for an answer, but before Caspar could give one, he pushed the question aside. "It just tires me, is all. I wish I didn't have to think of these matters so soon."

For some reason, Caspar's chest squeezed hearing those words from his mouth. "Seriously, don't say that..." he tried, but Linhardt only shrugged. They stopped at his dorm room, and Caspar tried to quickly forget about the matter. "Oh, we're here. Get some rest, okay?"

Linhardt responded with what was barely a grunt, and disappeared into his room. Caspar heard the door click shut as he began the walk upstairs, and, in his pensiveness, he spared a glance up at the sky. It was faded black and littered with only a select amount of stars. He had the fleeting thought that he wished it was clearer. He couldn't make out a single constellation, and it made the sky feel foreign and strange.

Days passed. Their professor stopped smiling. But their face was no longer blank as it had once been; it was twisted with sadness in such a way that he almost could not recognize them. Caspar almost couldn't face them in that state, and he found himself again and again trying to avoid them as he once had at the beginning of the year. What are you supposed to say when something like that happens? It wasn't as if Caspar could sympathize. He had no idea how he would react if something were to happen to his father.

But he couldn't help himself from feeling helpless again, either. Feeling stupid. Like he'd wasted all that time screwing around. Like all his training was for nothing, if people kept dying. If he couldn't save them. And there were people around him now — people he really wanted to protect, more people than there had ever been before. Ferdinand and his booming voice that faltered when challenged, and Bernadetta whose timid eyes saw the world in such a different way. Dorothea who teased him so lovingly, Petra who was so fun to be around in all of her earnestness, and even Edelgard with the sad way she gazed at him, or Hubert whose eyes crinkled when he chuckled. Byleth and their pained expressions. Linhardt, though he had been there all along.

All of them were so important to him. He'd never known what it felt like, to care so much — and to be cared about so much in return. Yet, it was so easy for one of them to be hurt. It was all like a sudden kick to the face, reminding him of his powerlessness. So something in his head told him that he couldn't bear to face Byleth — not until he was strong enough to... to do something. Anything.

So tireless hours were spent in the training hall, until they turned into days and weeks. Eventually, the class marched out to the forest, some faces still gloomy and some grit with determination. And Caspar thought, when they returned, that Byleth's face was even more of a stranger's than it had been when he first saw them. On the surface, they were the same, but something about the way they looked at people had completely changed. They laughed, grimaced, showed regret, even grief — but whenever Caspar met their eyes, it seemed to him that they were glowing with otherworldly compassion, so overflowing that it appeared like pity, like arrogance. It unnerved him. He was pretty sure it unnerved some other people, too.

So he was, for the first time in months, a little bit nervous to approach their office as the church bells rung from far away. His heart was hammering as he knocked on the door, his hands were clasped and twisting into each other as he waited for their response. But he definitely wasn't worried. Caspar knew that whatever had changed Byleth had also made them stronger — some way or another — so of course he wanted to spar with them as soon as he could. It was just... a little different. But different was good, right?

They opened the door without calling out like they used to, which startled him, but Caspar soon relaxed when he realized that everything else was the same as long as he didn't focus too much on their eyes. And once the sky was getting darker, the sun didn't shine so much on their light hair, and Caspar was able to sweat and yell as much as he wanted without worrying about a thing, just like old times. At least that's what he assured himself of.

Once he was alone again, it was dark and the paths were lit by lanterns. Out of habit, he mindlessly looked up, noting that this time it was particularly clear out — but this time he paused, squinting. Before he knew it, his feet took him to a familiar place, and he was impatiently knocking once again. The door opened promptly, and Caspar spat out the words dancing on his tongue.

"Hey, what's that constellation?" He pointed up, though obviously the subject could not be seen from inside.

Linhardt furrowed his brow like he wanted to offer a pointed complaint, but his interest was piqued, and he stepped outside into the biting chill of the Guardian Moon night to see. He thought for a moment as he looked at the small cluster of stars Caspar gestured to. "The Pegasus. You couldn't tell from the shape? There's the wing." He paused and pointed to a different place. "You can see the Shield of Seiros, too."

"Huh, I guess it's been a while."

"It has." Linhardt seemed troubled by this realization, and a frown spread across his face. "Well, we always did have a better view at Fort Merceus. Usually the Blue Sea Star was visible." He paused again, and winced. "You smell awful."

Caspar laughed. "Sorry, I was sparring with Professor Byleth... When's the last time you and your father came to Fort Merceus?"

"A couple years, perhaps..." Linhardt now was focused more on the sky, perhaps trying to map it all out in his head, every little star and planet. Caspar noticed his hair was tucked behind his ears in little tufts and his nose scrunched as his eyes strained. For some reason, those observations brought his thoughts back to the ball.

The touch of his hand. The smile in his eyes. But when all was said and done, it was all just Linhardt. Just Linhardt. Caspar hadn't realized his expression had become so conflicted, so he looked up again, seeking a remedy. "Linhardt, you remember what you said at the ball about dancing and stuff?" he blurted.

"Mhm."

"Were you really serious? About marriage?"

"I suppose." Now Linhardt's intrigue seemed to have gotten the better of him, and he tore his gaze away — but now it bored into Caspar.

"What about battle?"

"..." For a second, Linhardt harbored an expression of surprise — violation — and it was something Caspar expected from the moment he asked. But quickly, he swallowed and it was gone. "... I suppose I'll have to get used to that, too."

"There's no way that's what you wanna do!" Caspar insisted suddenly, taking an adamant step towards him. "Do you really think you can't change any of that?"

But Linhardt was calm as ever. "Vying for change is better left to people like you. That's why you're always chasing after your father, isn't it? Will you ever be satisfied with that?" His words were cold and hard, a blade that sunk into him. Caspar knew he had irked him, otherwise he never would've said such things — well, he probably would have if the thought happened to strike him, but he wasn't the type to think so scornfully about a friend in the first place.

In the moment, Caspar thought the hurt hidden in Linhardt's furrowed brow was eye-catching, and his glazed-over stare electrifying. It was almost as if with that taunt, they were _fighting_ , but the thought of it made him as anxious as it did strangely enchanted, so he averted his eyes. "I do wanna be like him, but I don't really know when you're glaring at me like you want me to drop dead..."

The familiar softening of expressions; and just like that, the conflict melted away. "What gave you that impression?"

"I can just tell!" Caspar pursed his lips. "Sorry. I just don't want you stuck somewhere you're unhappy, you know? I would be a shitty friend if I let that happen!"

"I know that." Linhardt paused. "But how would the blame fall to you if I ended up unhappy?"

"Cause _I'm_ supposed to be by _your_ side! Did you forget already?" Not a beat later, Caspar's attention was tugged to the ground beside them. An umber cat had stalked over, stretched, and laid down on the stone floor outside the dorm rooms. Delight in his eyes, Caspar quickly squatted down to see it. "Aw, look at this little guy!" He scratched its head boorishly.

Linhardt huffed. "You are such a simpleton." But he, too, leaned over to stroke the cat. "Troublesome, too," he added with a modest smile as he felt the tremble of a purr beneath his hand.

There was a content silence between the two of them for a minute. Caspar let the cat rub its face against his hand and awkwardly glanced over to Linhardt. "Sorry I'm asking again, but you're really okay, right? I wasn't serious about the battle thing."

"... Maybe not, but I will have to adapt." Linhardt looked solemn. "Eventually. Though I don't know if I'll ever be able."

"No, you don't." Caspar ceased his petting for a second to make his point. "We promised, didn't we? You strategize and heal, I'll take care of the gore." The cat pushed into his hand, demanding more affection. He obliged, and went on. "You're amazing, Lin. And we're amazing together! That's the best way to come at stuff, right?"

Linhardt's eyes softened further. "I suppose." Gingerly, his fingers met Caspar's (still petting the cat) and rested atop them. They were always more delicate-looking than they had the right to be, recalling how firmly they were capable of clinging to his wrists those many weeks ago. And the warmth of Linhardt's hand atop his was more comforting than any words he could have used to assure him — but still, assure he did.

"Thank you. It's a promise, then."

(

 _Caspar had scrapes on his left cheek, his right knee, both of his elbows, and both of his palms. Such was the norm, especially when Father took him to play in the fort. He'd visited many times before, and it was fun to play games in, tip-toeing around the pretend soldiers guarding the corridors, running into the training hall_ _while Father was distracted_ _to swing his axe at dummies that real knights used. Best of all, whenever he came to the fort, it was almost always because Father had matters to discuss with the tall man Caspar had come to know as Count Hevring._

 _He didn't think Linhardt liked the fort as much as he did, but he did often sit cross-legged in the shade and watch. Today, however, Caspar managed to convince_ _Lin_ _to stand up and try to teach him the spell he had learned from his father. Linhardt would speak some alien word and move his fingers in a weird way and suddenly, he had a feeble little light resting in his hands. The day was cloudy and drab, so the light looked dazzling casting a shadow on Linhardt's face. But Caspar didn't have much luck; Lin did nothing but babble on about some equations and formulas he didn't understand, and when Caspar flicked his fingers and mimicked the word, nothing happened._

 _For a little bit now, Caspar had been hearing a pair of voices shouting from inside. They had been told to play in the courtyard today — a large area of grass and weeds, untended for however long peace had endured. Beyond the corner where the shouts echoed, there was a crossroads between a staircase leading down and a compact hallway. On the opposite end, a moat. Caspar paused and exchanged a look with Linhardt when the yelling raised in volume. It was their fathers, of course. Rarely a day would come to pass when they did not argue in the other's presence. Linhardt uncomfortably shifted when Count Hevring's_ _voice_ _became shriller._

_Acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation, in the next moment rain began to fall, trickling down their faces. Linhardt frowned. "Should we head inside?" he wondered aloud._

_"Pff, nah," Caspar replied. "It's just rain." As if to mock his nonchalance, a clap of thunder sounded soon after, and his fists tightened at his side._ _"Bah!"_

_"Oh, alright. I suppose —" Linhardt's mischievous smile grew as he spoke — "we could stay until it all clears..."_

_"No!" cried Caspar. "I mean, I totally could, but! Let's just go inside, okay?"_

_Lin only softly laughed as he parted his hair in front of his face, already soaked and stuck together. Caspar beat him to the entrance, where the argument could be heard more clearly. He remembered Father saying something to Mother about discussing finance or resources or something similar — he didn't get it either way — but all he heard was senseless fighting. The two of them took care to quiet their footsteps as they passed by the hall and went down the stairs, lest they cause their fathers to recall their presences. As they tip-toed down, Linhardt sighed and broke the_ _silence. "Let's agree to not ever fight like they do, alright? What a nuisance."_

 _"That's a promise," Caspar_ _accepted_ _with distaste in his voice. Outside, lightning split the sky again, followed by a deep crack of thunder. It was muted by the walls of the_ _fortress_ _, but still Caspar found his hands were shaking. He squeezed his jaw shut tight and picked up the pace until he was all the way downstairs, where the floor flattened into another hallway. He waited for Lin to follow him, bouncing up and down anxiously. As he saw his feet coming down the stairs, he turned and opened the door to the side, revealing_ _the_ _crude bedroom_ _he remembered staying in a few times before_ _. Inside, there was no source of light beside the clouded sunlight from upstairs trickling in, so he froze as Linhardt approached him from behind._

 _"Can you make a light?" Caspar asked, and Linhardt nodded unsurely. He did the strange gesture and_ _after an anxious pause_ _there was light in his hand, though weak and yellowed. Relieved, Caspar found the bed and climbed on top of it just as it thundered again. He shuddered and watched Linhardt wander the room from beneath the sheets._

 _He drew a book from the barren shelves wordlessly — then sat down next to the bed with his_ _knees up to his chest_ _, the book propped open in his lap. There was a lull in sound for a while, save of course for the rain hammering the ground upstairs. There were several more beats before the sky thundered again. Caspar clutched the sheets and called obnoxiously loud out to Linhardt. "Lin... um... Are you reading?"_

_"Yes," was the response._

_"Do you mind if you... read it out loud?" His voice fell a little softer._

_"Again?" Linhardt's question did not receive an answer, only an unspoken plea. Caspar couldn't see his expression, but after a moment he began to speak nonetheless. "... Unorthodox tactics and a mastery of mounted defense. Chapter one."_

_The narration was monotone and unflinching. Even as thunder rocked the very room they took shelter in, Lin never so much as stuttered. And rather than the contents of the book, Caspar chose to focus on the steady rhythm of his voice. Such a familiar and steadfast voice guided his thoughts away from the thunder, away from Father, away from the fort._ _And asleep._

)

Upon reflection at a much later date, Caspar thinks he recalls turning to face Linhardt as his eyes got heavier, and he recalls staring at him in wonder with his face hidden behind the bedsheets. He remembers thinking just before he drifted to sleep that Linhardt was really, really strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its MY fanfic and i get to invent the plot convenient magic spell
> 
> you thought i had abandoned this fic but you're. well you're actually right i did for no apparent reason other than i fell out of the game for a while but im back now :D!! in other news i reached over 400 hours in fe3h! *cheering*
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! i hope i wont take half a year to update the fic again this time twt: @aishiratori


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